


The Dark Puddles

by Rocketman23



Series: BATIM prompt drabbles [11]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, kinda angsty, mentions of alice angel, more of a description on the ink really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 03:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocketman23/pseuds/Rocketman23
Summary: liliflower137 on tumblr asked;A fanfic about what it's like in 'the dark puddles'?





	The Dark Puddles

**Author's Note:**

> im going based off what Alice said in chapter 3 on here but id be thrilled to hear if you guys have any theories on it or different ideas!

They were horrible screaming wells of dying dreams and hopes, suckling life and joy out of any being that foolishly touched it’s depths. It was, in an ironic sense, a foolish place to be, not that most who had experienced the inky abyss had much choice in the matter. It was like a cage on the soul, if that could be called a thing down here, gripping slimy onyx claws into your being and never releasing, trapping and swallowing you further into the chaos of squirming things.

The voices were the worse though, screaming and crying, begging to be set free. All of them trying to understand the depths of their situation but ultimately failing. Broken minds seperate from the whole and intertwining with other shards to form a new being. Cohesive and structured thoughts a long thing past. It was all just a swell of garbled words and abhorrent thoughts in the end.

And if you were lucky enough, truly and magically lucky enough, you could escape the retched place, like she did. Yes, her form was less than desirable, a thick and oozing blob more alike to a slug than anything else, but she had escaped. And she had survived. If you were lucky enough to break free from those voices and surge from the aftermath then you were more than a miracle. But such things always come at a cost.

A story is told in each puddle, so many lives and beings intertwined and reformed and then broken all the same and yet a tale still speaks true. But a caution you should take. For if you step but a single foot in its inky depths, you shall never return the same


End file.
